


Him, Her, Them.

by HisBossBitch (Kithi1), Kithi1



Series: His Elizabeth Boland [3]
Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Angst, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Conflicted Rio (Good Girls), Emotional Baggage, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Eye Sex, Eye-fucking coz Lord help us Beth and Rio do that so good, Flashback of great sex, Flashback of happiness-inducing sex, Hurt/Comfort, Ice Cream, Lust, Mutual Pining, Obsessive Rio (Good Girls), POV Rio (Good Girls), Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Rio's golden gun, Scents & Smells, Soft Rio (Good Girls), Thoughts of car sex, Threats of Violence, Unplanned Pregnancy, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension, desire and hunger
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:33:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27807610
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kithi1/pseuds/HisBossBitch, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kithi1/pseuds/Kithi1
Summary: Dear Reader, these 2 have feelings. But they're idiots. Idiots in love.Okay, so beth told Rio that she was pregnant. Season 3, ep 3 and then she came home from grocery shopping and he was waiting to take her on a little ride. (the way he says, "hey, now" gives me shivers. Damn!)So they took a little ride. How did that go. I think it was fraught with all kinds of tension. Emotional tension, sexual tension; knife. Amiright?They would probably like to keep those  thoughts/feelings to themselves. Can't have that now!And plus the golden gun may or may not be in play. 😋😋 Oh and eyefucking. *blush. Soooooo much of it. And we all know how well they do do that.I'm living vicariously through them and fully intend on going down with this ship.
Relationships: Beth Boland/Rio
Series: His Elizabeth Boland [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2030728
Comments: 17
Kudos: 60





	1. Him

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MissTricey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MissTricey/gifts).



> For MissTricey, my muse: I was so happy writing this. You continue to inspire me. Hope you love it. 😘
> 
> For my kind readers:  
> Thank you all for being so kind as to read my work. 😘 
> 
> I felt so alive writing this. Hope you enjoy it. Oh, it's all leading up to something, I promise. So please check out my previous work.
> 
> Oh and if anyone knows the name of the song playing in this scene, pls pls share. It haunts me.

**_Him_ **

Leaning negligently against the side of his car, he watches her. It’s obvious her mind is far away and she hasn’t noticed him yet. 

Her hair moves with each step she takes: bounces a little. A breeze stirs through those strawberry-blonde curls and they catch the sunshine, throw back the light. His fingers twitch, he wonders how soft her messy curls would feel if he were to sink his fingers into them. He doesn’t need to wonder. His hands remember; _so soft_. He flexes his fingers; his knuckles go pale around his keys. 

He can’t help thinking how beautiful she is. Even in those mama jeans. Was she always? So beautiful? There’s a stirring of heat low in his belly. He shifts a little. There goes his body, trying to betray him. 

Idly, he wonders what she’s thinking about. Dinner… kids… husband. That last one irritates him. He shifts his shoulders. _Fuckin’ carman._ There are flowers in her grocery bag. He catches himself thinking that he likes that about her; the fact that she buys flowers for herself. _Who else buys her flowers? Carman? Nah._ He can’t quite see that happening. Maybe Carman buys some when he’s messed up. He wants to laugh. God, flower shops in the neighborhood would do booming business. _Nah._ She buys them for herself, probably. It’s a shame though. Because it’s obvious she likes them. He shakes his head. It’s not his business. 

He remembers the body she’d buried in her flower bed. His mind skitters away from that thought. _Nah._ He’s not going to think about that now; doesn’t want to remember how fuckin’ crazy she’d gone when she realized he sold her out to the fed; Turner. He shifts his shoulders uncomfortably; _yeah._ Maybe he had fucked up too. But Turner’s dead now; that’s a satisfying thought. 

He’s feeling pensive. Time always moves funny when she’s around, he muses. Some moments seem to stretch forever. Or sometimes he blinks and he feels Time jolt back into place and then rush by him and he can’t seem to catch up. _Weird_ ; It only happens with her. He gives himself a mental shake. Just a few more steps and she’ll be at her door. 

“Hey, now.”

She falters; stops. He can tell she is discomposed. She turns; gathers herself. He knows she’s wishing him away. _Sorry, sweetheart. Hate to disappoint. It don’t work like that._ She plasters a benign expression on her face. _Aight,_ he thinks. If that’s how she wants to play it, then that’s how he’ll play it too. Maybe this doesn’t have to be adversarial. He can be gentle.

He pushes off the car, sticks his hands in his jacket pockets, walks towards her. “How you feeling, mama?” 

“Nauseous.” She makes a small face. It’s cute. Very in-character for the role she’s chosen. _Aight,_ she’s playing the game. _Bring it on, mami._

He keeps walking towards her. There’s something about the light in her hair that gives him a pang. Maybe it’s because the afternoon sunshine reminds him of driving behind her momma-van from _the bar._ Even as he’d done it, he had known it was a bad idea. He was going to her turf on her terms. Bad idea to cede control. _Fuck!_ But he had wanted her so bad. Shoulda gone with his first instincts though. _Damn!_ His body’s been betraying him for a while now. Gotta start thinking with his head and not…. well, the other head. _Shit! That’s a juvenile thought._

_Whatever_ ; he gives himself another mental shake. _Her hair._ Right. That’s a dangerous line of thought; he can’t help himself though. He swallows a little. He’s coming round the tree in her yard. Time is doing that thing again; slowing down for her. _Her hair._ The sunlight had been in her hair that afternoon too. It had been pretty; fascinating; _like_ _gold on fire,_ he thinks to himself. Then they had gone into her house and he had kissed her in her bedroom and the world had gone to shit. He wants to scoff. _Actions…. Yeah. Fuckin’ consequences._ Right; they’ve got some facing up to consequences to do together now. 

_Christ!_ He could use a drink. _Day-drinking._ She had made it sound almost fun. What had she called it? _The one perk to losing your kids._ He wants to huff out a laugh. _Yeah!_ Maybe also the inevitable consequence of finding out the woman who tried to kill you may or may not be pregnant with what may or may not be your baby. _Day-drinking; Fun times!_

Who’s he kidding, he thinks. She’s not pregnant. This is just some hare-brained scheme to avoid getting herself killed off by him. It’s just such an _Elizabeth_ thing to do that he could almost laugh… cry… something. _Elizabeth! Goddamn Elizabeth!_ Say something; Do something; Think later when the chips start falling. That's her style. Although; _she’s smart as a whip this one._ He’s gotta give her that. She can think on her feet. No mettle though. She’s all initiation and no follow-through. Oh well, he’ll nip this little charade right in the bud. He’s got enough follow-through for both of them. Enough steel. _Unless she’s pregnant._ Then he’s fucked. _She’s not though._

  
  


“Let’s go for a drive. Get you some air.” He juts his chin out a little, tilts his head slightly; it’s an invitation but there’s a challenge flashing in his eyes. There; the gauntlet is thrown. He tilts his head some more, waits. 

She smiles at him. It’s almost sweet except it’s too sweet. _Saccharine; that’s the word,_ he thinks. His patience snaps. He’s angry before she even speaks. “I should get these inside. There’s ice-cream.” She motions with the bags in her hand; shakes them at him. 

He is moving before she is done talking. “Get in the car, Elizabeth.” His voice is cold; hard. He gets back in the car. He’s fuckin’ mad and he ain’t playin’. _Goddamn Elizabeth._ Nothing’s ever easy with her. He curses softly. 

  
  
  



	2. Her

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Beth has feelings. And she faces up to the mess she's helped make.
> 
> Love her but I think she doesn't show her true feelings: so, yeah, those are in here.

**_Her_ **

She really doesn’t want to get in his car. She does anyway. He hasn’t exactly left her much of a choice. She’s on the edge of her seat. She tries to relax. _As if!_ She wonders whether he will kill her now that she told him she’s pregnant. She’s not sure. Maybe. Why not? Because he hadn’t killed her immediately and been done with it the night she had told him? Maybe. Maybe not. It’s obvious that he hates her enough to do it though. He had been _really_ ready to do it three nights ago. It’s also painfully obvious he doesn’t believe her. _Can’t say I blame him_. So maybe, yeah. Maybe this is it. Maybe this is how she goes out. 

A distant part of her knows she should probably be thinking about her kids. And she is. It’s just that the world seems to have shrunk down to the space within this car; outside feels so far away; dreamlike; hazy; like she can’t really see it; like she’s not really part of it. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, she’s sure. She just doesn’t know what it is. It’s odd but her mind feels foggy. She can’t call up their faces. Everything outside feels unreal; everything inside too horribly real. 

Vaguely she wonders about dinner. What will they have for dinner when she doesn’t come home? Has she really just been shopping? She just did the school run this morning. What had Emma been wearing? Why can’t she remember which shoes Danny had been in? Does Kenny have swimming or piano today? Did Jane leave the dubby in the car or was it on her bed? Will she find it when she needs it? And then she thinks of Rio sending her the dubby and she can see nothing through the car window but their small faces. 

She’s suddenly worried that Emma and Jane will turn out exactly like her and Annie. She feels disappointed that Kenny will probably grow up to be just like Dean. And Danny! Her poor soft baby; she thinks he’ll have the roughest go of it. Tears prick at her eyes. _Don’t cry! Just, don’t cry._

And then she’s wondering if she had been a good mom. _Probably not._ Or this wouldn’t be happening. She wouldn’t be nerving herself for death. She should just have kept crafting. Hindsight’s a pretty useless thing, she thinks. _If I had known then what I know now._ She scoffs. _Pathetic._ Because if Hindsight were useful then she _wouldn’t_ have done the things she’d done and she obviously _wouldn’t_ know the things she knows now. _Who needs Hindsight then? Pretty useless thing to have around._ Or maybe Time is the pathetic thing. Because if you could go back in Time, knowing what you know now, maybe then you could take your hindsight and actually use it. Either way, something’s pathetic. Something’s missing in that Time-Hindsight equation. Or else she wouldn’t be here; she would be mindless and happy and contented while crafting. Right? 

She’s not so sure though; that she would go back if she could. Yeah, maybe there’s some stuff she would go back to undo. She thinks of the gun going off in her hand the first time she had shot Rio. She wouldn’t do that. She would go back and undo it if she could. Maybe she would keep her head and not shoot him the second and third times. The first shot had been an accident. She had just sort of flinched… and then he was shot. But the second and third times; God! Why had she done that? 

_I’m having an existenstial crisis. Huh. So that’s what one feels like then._ She scoffs internally at herself. _Pathetic! Even for me._ She can’t seem to shake it though. Maybe… she thinks... maybe if she had to do it all over again, maybe she just wouldn’t have brought him home from _the_ bar; from _their_ bar. That’s when the sky really started falling. She bites her lip. Tries to sell it to herself. Finds she can’t. _No;_ maybe she’d still do that. Just maybe not kick him out of her bed when he had just been… when they had just… _God!_ And the money on the nightstand! What had she been thinking? Why had she wanted to hurt him so bad? She’d… shamed him. And for what? Just so she could never think of going back to him and doing it again? So that _he_ would never let himself think of coming back to her again? 

She tells herself she kind of, sort of knows why she’d done it. She had just instinctively known that her being married would not be much of a hurdle to Rio; that he would even see it as a challenge; relish in it; find her over and over and make her want him until she’d lose herself in him. But she had had crystal-clarity on one thing, known it to an absolute certainty; that if she humiliated him, he would despise her and maybe himself but he would never seek her out and that’s what she had wanted, right? That’s what she had needed, right? But she hadn’t counted on him actually hating her and wanting revenge. And she’d hurt him; and he’d blackmailed her and hurt her back; but then she’d shot him; and now her ledger was in the red and he had come to collect. 

She gnaws on her lip; it feels raw. She finds she’s not getting any absolution; not from herself and certainly not from him. Well, she had gotten her wish. Now they could never go back... he would never want to go back... with her. Not in any meaningful way anyway. Not the way she wanted anyway. Plus, he was literally driving her to her death. She had been sort of happy, she thinks… before he came along… At least contented, right? No. Not really. Not even then. _God! I’ve never been happy with Dean!_ She had kind of loved him; enough to live with him for 20 years. She’d just sort of gone along for the ride and he hadn’t even loved her enough to not screw around on her. _Pathetic._

But with Rio…. She’d felt… Something! Alive! Awake! Happy, almost. Happy. Somewhere between _their_ bar and her kicking him out, she’d been happy. She chokes on a sob; swallows it whole. She thinks maybe _he_ had kind of, maybe been too. He’d been so… She struggles to find the word… so... _Soft_. She squeezes her eyes shut.

Her grocery bags are at her feet. They seem…. well, incongruous to the circumstance. She is strangely uncomfortable about that; maybe because his car is pristine and she would bet good money there has never been a grocery bag here before. She wants to laugh at the absurdity of the thought. _Can’t lose what you don’t have,_ she thinks. The thought tastes bitter on her mind. But he hadn’t offered to open the trunk for her and she hadn’t wanted to ask him. _I’m not entirely stupid, am i?_ She sniggers mentally. Yeah, well… She’s been doing some really stupid things for a while now. 

Her leg is cold where it’s pressed against the ice-cream. She shifts a little in her seat. Settles farther back; as far from him as she can get. He glances at her; looks back to the road. She’s still uncomfortable; she wiggles a little. He doesn’t look at her. 

_God!_ This is the longest drive of her life. Will it never end? she thinks, _And then what?_ The thought sounds so loud in her head. The answer, just as deafening; _I die._ She shivers. Out of the corner of her eye, she watches him. He is so achingly handsome. Almost beautiful. He looks so strong. So capable. Looks like he could be so gentle if he wanted to be. She remembers that. _Like corded steel, wrapped in silk._ It’s a strange thought. There’s a lump in her throat. _Now_ he just looks angry. Yes, she gets it. She shot him; she gets it. There’s really no other way for him to be. 

But his jaw is clenched so tight that she can practically hear him grind his teeth. There’s an angry set to his shoulders. His grip on the wheel is tight enough that his knuckles are white; _bloodless,_ she muses. _That’s the word._ Every so often he rolls his right shoulder; like maybe it aches and he’s trying to ease the soreness out. She figures he doesn’t know he’s doing it; he’s not conscious of it. He wouldn’t willingly let her see his discomfort; of this much, she is absolutely certain. She feels awful. Guilty. She’s the one who has done that to him. She doesn’t like how the thought sits in her belly; it feels heavy. She’s nauseous. 

_Yeah, well. Now he’s going to kill me for it._ The thought startles her; like maybe she had forgotten why she’s in his car. _Jesus!_ He’s going to kill her. Traffic has thinned out. They are more than halfway across town. _This is really it._

She feels a headache coming on. She wonders how he’s going to do it. When he does it. Any time now. Will he shoot her like she shot him? Most likely. She doesn’t think he would do it any other way. How many times will he shoot her? One shot? Maybe three for poetry? Maybe he’ll empty the full clip in her? Annie’s voice is in her head; _He’s gonna cap a bitch!_ Beth smiles, then frowns. That had been so funny when Annie said it. Not now. It’s all too real now. Where in her body will be shoot her? In the chest? Maybe. Maybe right between the eyes and she wouldn’t even have time to feel it. _Time; such a weird concept._ Well, hers has nearly run out. 

Then she thinks again that maybe he’ll shoot her in the chest; then she’ll drown in her own blood like he had in his. _No._ she thinks. _It will be quick and cold and efficient; just like him. Unless._ Unless he wants her to hurt. God! Why is she just sitting here? Paralysed? Is this how she’ll go out; like a lamb led quietly to the slaughter? She tries to work herself up for a fight; finds she’s too tired for it; feels apathetic; leans her head on the window. Will it hurt him to do it? She wonders. She doesn’t know but she’s surprised to find, she cares a hell of a lot.

_His gun._ She’s thinking about it; she wonders if he has a new one. It’s an odd thing to be curious about but something about that golden gun is just so… so _Him._

What happened to it? After she used it on him. After she _shot_ him? Is it in an evidence locker someplace at the FBI? Or did Turner just ditch it? No. Somehow she can’t see either of those things being true. Her fingerprints are on that gun; Turner must have kept it. Yeah. That feels right. Turner had it and now she doesn’t know who has it. Maybe another cop?

_How naïve am i? How could I just leave it there for him? It’s evidence. Jesus!_ She’s done a lot of stupid things. She remembers what Turner had said before he’d left. He was going on holiday. _Holiday!_ And then someone just shot him. She looks at Rio; wonders about Turner. Maybe _Rio_ did it. Yeah, feels about right. He killed his bogeyman and now, _Tag, You’re it._ She must be losing her damn mind because she wants to giggle; she smiles instead. _Tag, I’m it._ The thought sobers her up.


	3. Them

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They both have feelings. Will they talk about them?
> 
> Also, eye-fucking. And some flashbacks of things they did and some stuff they'd like to do. Wouldn't you love to know?

**_Them._ **

She looks at his hands on the wheel. They look so firm; so… _capable._ She shivers; thinks of his hands on the nape of her neck and his gun under her chin. She remembers the grip of his hand on her thigh, while she watched him watching her in _the_ bathroom mirror right before he had yanked her panties… She shifts around in her seat and clears her throat. 

_What is wrong with me?_ she thinks. It’s not that she is unafraid. It’s just that for a second there she had thought of Rio as Rio from… _Before._ You know; Rio from back when he had held a gun to her head so many times she had stopped being afraid of him; had stopped being afraid of him and had started to notice the tangle of his hands in her hair; had stopped being afraid and had started to see something in his eyes; something unexpected. Like, he would press a gun to her chin and she’d look in his eyes and see fury; and then she’d see want; see craving and she’d just know; not today. He’s not actually going to pull the trigger. 

Well, not anymore. _That_ Rio was gone. _This_ Rio is murderous. And she’s afraid. Like really cold on the inside and afraid. She wants to ask him how much longer they’ll be; or where they’re headed. Yeah, that would be the wrong move. _Not entirely stupid, am I?_

She glances back at him. His beanie’s pulled low but his ears peek out at the bottom. She flushes; she remembers kissing him at that spot right below his ear. He’d growled softly and thrust harder into her. She looks out the window. 

They’ll soon be all the way out of the city. There’s barely any traffic at all. It looks like they may be headed out into the suburbs again. Will the cops ever find her body? No; another certainty. She’ll simply be a headline; _Beth Boland, mother of 4 goes missing._ It’s a chilling thought. _Annie and Ruby will never survive it. They’ll try to go to the cops and then he’ll kill them too._ God! She feels stifled. He’s an angry brooding presence and it’s sucking the very air from her lungs. 

They hit three red lights in a row. There’s a metaphor in there somewhere, she’s sure. She’s just doesn’t know what it is. The car slows down at the first red light and he leans towards the glove compartment, hand outstretched. He opens it, pulls out a card, glances at it. He closes the compartment, straightens and looks back at the road. The light turns green. He drives. 

At the next red light, he again reaches towards the glove compartment. She shrinks farther back in her seat. His eyes meet hers. She can’t help it; her body shudders. He looks at her; he’s got her impaled on the razor-edged point of his gaze. There’s a storm in his eyes and she doesn’t know what it means; because his whole body is one jagged line of barely-leashed fury but there’s something else in his eyes; something hungry….naked… and needy. His tongue darts out; he licks his lower lip; then bites the inside of it. 

She hears herself whine; a small achy sound in the very back of her throat and his eyes snap down to her mouth. Her throat is dry, parched. His eyes are so deep. _How is this possible?_ how could he be so angry and yet so…so hungry? There’s no other word for it. He looks like he wants to devour her and… her panties are soaked. A horn honks behind them. He drives. She swallows roughly.

He is holding his body differently somehow; like previously he’d been ignoring her and it had been easy but now his shoulders are tight like he’s hyperaware of her presence and he’s now got to focus to push her out of his mind. She doesn’t know how she knows this; she just does. 

He takes his right hand off the wheel as they come to the third red light. He seems reluctant to do it but he reaches for the glove compartment anyway. She’s transfixed; her whole body goes absolutely still. 

It’s inevitable. He looks at her; she meets his eyes. Her breaths are shaky. Her eyes are huge in her face; the blue of her irises almost swallowed up by her pupils. _Fear_ , he thinks and something twists low in his gut. A gun glints in his hand; gunmetal grey. And she’s sort of sad it’s not the golden gun because then maybe it wouldn’t be okay when he killed her but at least it would be _right._ And there’s so much history amongst them; _Her, Him and His Golden Gun; Them._

Then her left leg is juddering and she can’t help it and the gun grazes her knee. And she gulps because his hand is on her thigh. His fingers splay, press firmly into her knee and squeeze. And she stops breathing altogether because her body obeyed him and her leg is still. So she forces down the sob in her mouth and she thinks maybe her heart broke when she kicked him out and she hadn’t known and now she knows and only he can mend it. And God, how did they go from what they used to be _Before_ to this; to this thing where her mind is terrified of him because it almost has forgotten how he used to be _Before_ but her body remembers and doesn’t want to move on?

She’s drowning in his eyes and she thinks that second, minute, hour and day are nonsense words around him; because right now Time is a quivering string playing a mournful note, stretched taut between them as they both hang suspended from it. 

He blinks. The string breaks; she’s falling away from him but the mournful note plays on. And his hand is gone from her thigh and the gun is in the glove compartment; and his eyes are not on her and she still can’t breathe and she wants to pant and she feels like she’s been running and she wants to cry but doesn’t. 

Just squeezes her eyes shut and swallows the tears. And then another whine escapes her lips like it’s been torn out of her and so she flushes; a wine-red stain chases itself down her face to her neck and under her sweater and she’s so hot. She opens her eyes and his hands on the wheel are pale again and his eyes are on her mouth and she wants to die a little or throw herself on him and oh… she doesn’t know what wants. She gasps. It’s all a little too much. She feels faint. Nauseous. And suddenly her window is sliding all the way down and it’s him who’s done it. There’s a breeze in her hair. 

_Cherry blossom._ The scent of her hair wafts to him and he regrets rolling the window down. Because now her scent is on the breeze and he’s afraid because his body feels out of control. And he wants to drag her astride him and push into her and keep doing it until she’s moaning for him and he’s… he curses softly under his breath and thinks maybe he just needs to shoot something; kill something. 

Her. Preferably. If she’s not pregnant. Because she’s not pregnant. And his baby is not in her belly right now. And then he thinks that if his baby is not in her belly right now, maybe he now wants to put one there. There’s a stirring of heat low in his belly; he shifts a little. There goes his body, trying to betray him again. But this whole mess is just another lie from her sweet lying mouth. And _Christ_ , he’s just got to keep on believing that because if he doesn’t, it will unman him and he will come undone and he can’t have that. But then now his mind is on her mouth and he knows where on his body that mouth has been because he can almost feel it sear his skin like she branded him with her kisses. 

_Her sweet, sweet lying mouth._ He knows he’s in trouble because he’s looking at the road but her mouth is all he sees and he remembers kissing it while his lips had still been slick from her cunt. And they hadn’t used protection because they’d both been aching for him to cum in her and _Fuck!_ They were just so stupid; Because they hadn’t used protection in _their_ bar bathroom either. And then in her bedroom, the thought of having cum in her before, while her husband waited for her, had pushed him just a bit faster over the edge and he’d spilled himself into her in her husband’s bed. And he’d buried his face in her neck and hair and tried to catch his breath. And she had looked happy and she’d smelled of cherry blossoms and honeysuckle and _him and her and them_ and he’d fuckin’ loved it and he’d been fuckin’ happy. Then everything had gone to shit.

And _fuck!_ Maybe she’s pregnant because he doesn’t want to kill her so bad anymore but then if she isn’t, he doesn’t have a choice; and he’ll be cold and hard for that and afterwards, he thinks it will still unman him and he will still come undone anyway. _Christ!_ He needs a drink or he’s going to kill something soon.

Her. Preferably. But he’s just not quite ready for that. 

He’s out of his seat almost before he stops the car. And it’s been a godawfully long drive- _fuckin’ suburbs-_ except it’s only been 39 minutes and time is just fuckin’ meaningless around her. And they still haven’t said a word to each other. 

“Get out of the car, Elizabeth,” he snarls. But it’s unnecessary because she’s already scrambling, like she can’t wait to be out of his car and he’s fuckin’ tired and maybe he’s a little bit sad. And it all just feels like such a fuckin’ waste and he hates how things turned out. Because he knows that whimpering sound she made earlier because she’s made it for him _Before_. _Before_ , in her bed when he'd been sucking on her nipple and then he'd bitten it because he wanted to hurt her softly. And it’s the first time she’s been in this car and there’s ice-cream at her feet _-what flavor is it?-_ and maybe he can think of some things he wishes he could do to her with it in the backseat of the car and he just knows that she would have fuckin’ loved it and so he would do it again just to see her happy. 

But _fuck!_ This is the shit hand that he’s been dealt and he’s got to fuckin’ play it. And he’ll be damned but she’s not getting one up on him. So he presses the heel of his hand into his eyes and drags his hand down to his mouth. And he wishes he were not so fuckin’ tired. But if he has to keep playing this stupid game, that’s fine but he’s not messing around anymore; The stakes are literally life or death and he already tried dying once and he did not quite fuckin’ love it. So he’s not doing it again. And she almost killed him and does she think about that? And then she fuckin’ left him. she left him dying on the floor and she walked away and maybe that’s why he’s so fuckin’ mad and so fuckin’ sad all the fuckin’ Time. And maybe he could forgive her for shooting him coz sometimes he thinks maybe she was really fuckin’ scared when she did... Of him. And he hates thinking that because every time he thinks she was really afraid, it fuckin’ kills him again. And maybe he thinks she didn’t mean to do it. But he’ll never ask her so he’ll never _know_ and now he’s just so fuckin’ tired. But then she'd still fuckin' left him. And now someone’s dying and he’s afraid it’s her; he is just so deathly afraid.

But either way, he has a kingdom to keep and it was really hard won and it can’t be lost because then other people will die. And in the end, it’s always going to come down to _him and her; to them_. So someone’s getting killed and he’s got to do the killing and maybe that’s okay. 

And maybe it’s Her. Preferably. Coz he’s playin’ to fuckin’ win. So why does he feel like he’s already losing? _Maybe she’s pregnant_.

He walks into the building. She’s one step behind him. He holds the door for her.

  
  



End file.
